I Got Boobs at Age 30

My mom always told me I'd be a late bloomer. But I don't think either of us expected it to be this late.

Throughout my twenties, I was an A cup. Although I went through a self-esteem rough patch in my teens because I didn't look like a Victoria's Secret model, by the time I hit college I'd come to not only accept but appreciate being flat-chested. I could go braless in yoga without pain. I could wear ultra low-cut tops and pull off the '60s French gamine look. A dozen "dress for your body type" articles later, and I started investing in pricier statement pieces that I knew I could wear forever.

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

Or so I thought.

When I turned 30, it felt like a tiny alarm had gone off inside of me. My metabolism slowed down. I couldn't knock back a whole six pack by myself without getting sick or falling asleep. And my favorite dresses didn't fit me anymore. I finally "developed," about 15 years after I thought I would, and about ten years after I stopped wanting to.

Though I felt like a freak, some quick research showed that a metabolism and body change like mine was pretty normal. According to the NIH, most people have more body fat after age 30 as they start losing their lean tissue. It's also normal for people to lose some of their height as they age; as an already-shortie, that news really made me want to drink some milk and sit up straight. For whatever wacky biological reason, some of those bits of body fat ended up in a socially desirable spot.

Although I'd only gone up to a 34B, the change felt massive. Nothing fit the same. Buying new clothes was a nuisance. But it was all the other parts of having sudden curves that came as surprises, even though my female friends had been talking about them for years. Boob sweat? Totally a thing. Chest hurting after working out? Yeah, that was real too. I was about as skillful in picking out my first sports bra as I would have been choosing a jock strap, standing there in the store looking cross-eyed until a teenage employee took pity on me and offered to help.

I used to think that having bigger breasts would make me more confident. But the opposite happened. Women's bodies are always on public display, and no one is safe from street harassment. Suddenly, the "hey baby"s turned into "hey, nice titties!" The nice man at the bodega where I always bought breakfast was now a letch who stared at my chest instead of my face when asking me if I wanted the bagel toasted or not.

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

It's one thing to be aware of street harassment, unwelcome gazes, and touches. But it's another thing to experience these things. I started thinking back to an argument I'd had with a former boyfriend. We were on vacation, staying in a B&B in a small town in the country. Although the fastest way back was through a park, I tried to insist we go the long way through a well-lit neighborhood. As we argued about which way to go, I finally snapped, "Have you ever walked alone in the dark while being female? Because it's terrifying." He apologized. And then we went the long way. But it's not just walking alone in the dark. It's being outside, anywhere, anytime, wearing anything. 70-99 percent of women will experience street harassment at some point in their lives, according to research conducted by the nonprofit organization Hollaback. That's right—a max of 99 percent, which means pretty much freaking everyone. The stats were disheartening, but they also helped me realize that nothing I said or did, and no way that I dressed, would change that. Instead of trying to hide my changing shape in the hope that men would leave me alone, I realized that the problem was with the guys who think it's appropriate to talk to women that way.

If these later-in-life growing pains have taught me anything, it's that I am not my body. I want to take care of my body by eating well and staying in shape, but I can't be reduced down to a single body part (or, er, two of them). Just like my figure, my life is still in flux. Nothing is set forever, and there's always the potential to evolve. I'd spent many of my formative years imagining a life in which a pair of breasts was my ticket to cute boyfriends, beauty pageant titles, and happiness. Instead, it was just the exact same life I'd had before my growth spurt—just with more lower back pain.